Symphonie Fantastique
by Cedar
Summary: For years he watched his friends, so graceful in their talents. For years, the enemy watched him, and Peter Pettigrew's seduction into Voldemort's service began.
1. Program Notes

Disclaimer: All the characters and places in this work belong to J.K. Rowling and the large corporations with which she is associated. Hector Berlioz composed the "Symphonie Fantastique." Thomas DeQuincey wrote Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. Goethe wrote "Faust," and Victor Hugo wrote "Ronde du Sabbat." The "Dies Irae" is a centuries-old Latin mass. No money is being made from this work.   


Thanks go to Caro for her help with the courtroom dialogue in the fourth part, to oybolshoi for talking to me about the program notes, and to H.F., for her love, time, thought, and patience.   


~~~~~~~~   


**Program Notes: About the "Symphonie Fantastique"**   


Written by French composer Hector Berlioz in 1830, the "Symphonie Fantastique" is based on parts of the novel Confessions of an English Opium-Eater by Thomas DeQuincy, as well as Goethe's "Faust" and Victor Hugo's poem "La Ronde du Sabbat." It follows the Gothic style of literature, and falls into the Classical era of Western music.   


From the aforementioned works came the passage known as the idée fixe (ee-day feex) or the "fixed idea," a recurring theme symbolizing the composer's beloved, which I have turned into a theme of a plea that echoes through the Marauders' minds: "James," he thought, "please forgive me." The true spark of the "Symphonie Fantastique" was Berlioz's romantic interest in a Shakespearean actress named Henrietta Smithson, whom he eventually married. Berlioz copied bits of his previous musical works into the "Symphonie Fantastique;" the idée fixe is from a cantata he wrote called "Herminie."   


The first movement, "Reveries-Passions," is the exposition of the idée fixe, which is repeated through this movement and indeed the entire work. The audience is introduced to this strange dream world and the hopeless love of a young man. The second movement, "Un Bal," or "A Ball," is a waltz. The man dreams of dancing with his love at a ball, but her appearance troubles him. The third movement, "Scene aux Champs," or "Scene in the Country," is a pastoral scene with a calm overtone and banter between the solo oboe and English horn. At the end of the movement, rolling thunder is heard in the distance with the entrance of four timpani (kettledrums), each played by a single player, as the man wonders if his love is deceiving him. One solo continues to play, but the other does not respond.   


In sharp contrast to this is the fourth movement, "Marche au Supplice," translated "March to the Scaffold" or sometimes "March and Procession to the Gallows." The young man overdoses on opium, and has terrifying visions that he killed his love and is sentenced to die for his crime. This is the first time in the work that a full percussion section is heard. We do not hear the idée fixe until the end of the movement, when it is played once by a solo clarinet and is followed by a strike from the percussion section and plucking of string instruments (pizzicato). This paints an aural picture of the man's execution by beheading. The movement ends just a few seconds later with a brass fanfare and drum roll.   


The fifth movement, the "Hexensabbat," sometimes "Ronde du Sabbat," or "Song d'une nuit du Sabbat," translated "Witches' Sabbath" or "Dream of a Witches' Sabbath," portrays a dance of witches, where the man ends up after being executed. He sees his love as an evil witch, and the idée fixe returns as a crude dance. The other witches are happy to see her, and they join in the dance. The low brass enters with the theme of a liturgical "Dies Irae," a hymn describing Judgment Day sometimes used in a mass for the dead. The grotesque idée fixe and the "Dies Irae" (Dee-is Ear-ay) are played against each other with a funeral bell tolling in the background.   


As Berlioz took literature and created music, I am taking his music and creating literature. You do not have to know the "Symphonie Fantastique" well, or at all, to understand this fic. The information I've provided should give you enough background so you can see the parallels between the symphony and the story and appreciate how the music gives to the words. The "Symphonie Fantastique" is one of my favorite orchestral works and it seemed to beg for a fic to go along with it. If you'd like to listen to the piece while reading, I recommend the recording of John Eliot Gardiner conducting the Orchestre Revoluntionaire et Romantique. Recordings may also be available online, or at your local public library. 


	2. Reveries

With many thanks to H.F.: this fic would not be what it is without you.  


  
**

I: Reveries-Passions

**   


The Trinity, he called them. The Triad. The Three. Although the four of them had been friends almost seven years, there was always a belief in the darkest unreachable place in his mind that he didn't fully belong to them. He was certainly intelligent and even excelled at Arithmancy, but it seemed to him that they glided through classes, their minds flexible and their talents tactile. Twice their number of hours of studying only seemed to get him halfway to their success, and it always felt like his body would not comply with his mind. He tripped on his robes and had to carefully think through every answer he gave in Potions. To James and Sirius school was an intricate dance to be performed ultimately to perfection. At the same time, he struggled with some of the basic steps, watching himself in the mirror and trying to imitate their grace. How was it that they always seemed to know just what to say and do? A flick of Sirius's wand and the charm was executed. A bend of James's wrist and objects changed form as though they had been constructed for the very purpose of being transfigured. Remus was not the student James and Sirius were, but he had a calm air of mystery and a way of making everyone feel welcome and understood, traits that could never be taught. Remus was the one who listened. He always had the answers James and Sirius could not give. It was Remus who defended his friends with wit, disarming his adversaries with charisma and slicing them to pieces with his words.   


The Trio supported him and laughed with him, yet all along he knew he could never be one of them. He often wondered how they had come to choose him, although at the same time he knew they came to him because he rounded their personalities. He was the one who quietly challenged authority, using his skills as a rational thinker to present different sides of an argument. Whether he did it because he really had that famous Gryffindor bravery or because he simply wanted to prove himself he wasn't sure. In truth, he was always a little surprised when he found himself standing up for his ideas.   


"James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


"Nothing will keep us apart," James had said. Loyalty worthy of a Hufflepuff, such words slipped so easily from his lips. Had he ever felt like an outsider a day in his life?   


Their natural leader, James was a champion the moment he stepped off the train. He was admired, even adored, with his bright, relaxed smile and deep blue eyes. It was he who discovered Remus was a werewolf. James had racked his brain for the better part of a semester trying to figure out a way they could help Remus. He had been the one to come up with the idea of becoming Animagi. While he had agreed with James after lengthy discussion that it would indeed be the best way to support their friend, he panicked inwardly at the idea of trying to execute such difficult magic. Together, they had studied endless hours to work the transformation, their friendship deepening in the bonds of secrecy. He had found himself watching James across their study table, running his hands through his black hair and twirling his quill in thought. The forbidden place in his brain hid his pleasure at seeing James struggle with something, even though he knew he would never be able to perform the spell without James's help. For years it was James he admired above everyone, James whom he asked for advice. It wasn't enough to be James's friend; he wanted James's place in life with all its agility and knowledge.   


It was worth every second of lost sleep to see the look on Remus's face when they first transformed, Remus gingerly reaching down to stroke Sirius's fur, barely believing such a friendship could be real. At that moment, everything had seemed perfect; his sacrifice had cemented his place among them. He rushed forward, wrapping his tail around Remus's ankle, climbing his robes, and coming to rest on his shoulder. He had been initiated into their brotherhood and taught their ritual in long hours hunched over heavy books. In return he promised himself that he would strive to be worthy of his place among them. They cherished him, but was it enough? His hours of work could never seem to equal what came to them so effortlessly. It would forever be a dividing factor and, Animagus or not, he couldn't bear to think that someday they might come to the realization that he was never able to keep up with them. He loved them, but could not trust them any further than he could trust himself. They might one day abandon him in favor of someone who shone as brightly as they did.   


"James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


It was the wanting that would be his undoing. The wanting seen so clearly by Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, missed by the ones closest to him. They watched him as closely as he watched the Trinity. When he faltered, they saw. When he stumbled, they rejoiced. He saw victory in their heartless smiles when he gave a wrong answer. They never spoke to him when the other three were around, knowing he lacked the physical prowess and speed of mind to defend himself against their abuse. They would push him against the stone corridors and taunt him during Potions, but nonetheless he felt drawn to them. He knew they were destined for greatness. They were Slytherin's brightest, the ones who battled James and Sirius for the top spots in their class. Malfoy harbored winter in his movements, crisp with athleticism and the purest wizard blood. Snape did not have Malfoy's looks, but he compensated for that with knowledge of magic that seemed to surpass that of anyone he knew.   


More than wit or a gift for Transfiguration, he wanted the education that couldn't be found in books. He wanted the steel he saw in Malfoy's spine and Snape's assurance in his repertoire. Anything, he thought. Anything he could give would never be enough if he could be a part of them and partake of the self-assurance his friends would not share. They could bring him security in exchange for his promises, which he could never fully see in Sirius's mercurial temperament. Though they were dangerous, they were unwavering in their sense of self. They had no love, only ambition, but he could trade love for power and personal gain. Just once, he wanted to feel fully part of a group and be sure of his anchor.   


That night the library had been quieter than usual. He supposed it was because of Ravenclaw's Quidditch victory over Hufflepuff. They approached him while he sat among his books, wrist cramping around his quill. He was amazed by their ability to move swiftly yet silently, so controlled and precise. For a minute after they invited themselves to sit at his table, no one said anything. He dared to hold them in his gaze.   


"You know, Pettigrew."   


He did. With few words, they had taken him as their prisoner, baiting him with his own shadowy thoughts. Secretly he reveled in being their prey, knowing that once he allowed himself to surrender to them they would shape him into the man he wanted to be. He tightened internally at Malfoy's presence, a taut bowstring ready to release its arrow. A scream bubbled in his throat, but he remained silent.   


Lucius Malfoy had eyes like diamonds and a voice to match and, as though he was glass, Malfoy's words cut him.   


"You are ours. His."   


He was. Fear held him there, as did the desire to possess what he could barely touch. They had chosen him. They could see his potential. He had no good reason to trust them, but he was willing to put that aside in his need to be a part of them. They knew his abilities, didn't they? They saw him as more than the dissonant note in the Gryffindor chord. He could be great, he knew. It was all in his head, and they would help him on his way to greatness.   


"Your loyalties will be tested."   


They would be. He'd heard in whispers of the rise of a powerful Dark wizard seeking a circle of disciples. Would he be able to live on both sides? James would be crushed. Sirius might kill him. Remus would try to talk him out of it. At that moment, pressed down by the still air in the library, he was willing to give everything he had to belong, even if it cost him everything he knew.   


"James," he thought, "please forgive me." Malfoy and Snape rose and left the library.   


A strange calm overtook him. Was it triumph? Seduction? Something had settled around him, a feeling of belonging tainted with the sense that he could never turn back. It was pride and trepidation, confidence and sacrifice, all coming together in one flawless cadence. 


	3. Un Bal

**II: Un Bal**

  


As this movement is a waltz, the verses are grouped three at a time in sets of eight with the interruption of the idée fixe at the halfway point, emulating the three-quarter time and phrasing of the dance.   


~~~~~~~~~

  


Christmas was perfect.  
Snow fell silently, masking the stars.  
As James entered the Great Hall, he tasted silk and gold, satin and silver.   


Decorated pines stood in the corners, filling the air with the scent of the holidays.  
She was waiting for him, dressed in her best.  
Deception was the word furthest from his mind as he smiled, offering her his hand.   


A violin's frenzied waltz inspired the dancing students.  
Finding the table set for their usual four, he greeted Sirius and Remus in a swirl of midnight blue.  
Embryonic death watched them from a corner.   


"Shall we dance?" asked Sirius.  
His eyes were obsidian, dark and lustrous and lit with the night's tinsel.   
Something in them made Remus remember obsidian's origins of ash and destruction.   


The four had exchanged gifts that morning,  
Ribbons tight with the knowledge that next year they might not be together,  
Paper thick with their history.   


They spent their afternoon in their common room,  
Weaving a web of friendship around the fire.  
Peter had almost told them.   


He had drawn air for the sentence,  
Changed it into something insignificant.  
They had not noticed as he fumbled for his words.   


Would they care?  
Was his insecurity so much a part of their group that they no longer thought about it?  
The others would rescue him from a life of being second best.  
  


"James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


"Have you seen Peter?"  
"He's around here somewhere."  
"Somewhere," muttered Snape, with a glance to a far corner.   


"He has an assignment for you," said Malfoy.  
"One you should find easy.  
"He wants Potter. Not now, but soon."   


Peter turned away from Malfoy.  
An icy breath in his ear,  
A velvet chain to darkness.  
  


Winding his way through the students,  
His heart beating in time with the music,  
"James," he thought, "please forgive me."  
  


Could James still love him?  
Would their friendship ever be the same?  
Who would they want after James?   


Brass flowed in his blood,  
Brilliant and poisonous,  
Sharp in its sound.  
  


He was one of their lethal circle.  
He had traded the Triad for the promise of glory,  
For the promise of acceptance.   


Among the sparkle lay the beginning of a war.  
They would be divided, betrayed, murdered.  
Christmas was perfect. 


	4. Scene Aux Champs

**III: Scene aux Champs**

  


The heat and light of the high July sun was Remus's greatest pleasure. It burned his cheeks, bleached his hair, and ripened the fruit on the trees in the orchard. He bathed in the long days that made it seem like the moon would never arrive. James and Lily were due to have a baby this month. Did time really move so quickly? Hadn't they all just met last week?   


He was glad Sirius had moved in at the beginning of the summer and they could live off his salary and the sale of some food from their land. He had tried to hold down a job, but all his employers eventually figured out what was wrong with him, why he disappeared around the same time every month. With every job he lost, he felt his separation from society grow deeper. He had been a werewolf almost twenty years, but he had never gotten used to the transformation. The physical pain, he had found, didn't even encompass half the problem. He realized that he was alone in the world except for Peter, James, and Sirius. While he didn't need a lot of companions, he was still disquieted by the idea that he had no one except for the other three.   


Without work his days sometimes felt monotonous, comprised of walks in the garden, cleaning the house, doing occasional research, and waiting for Sirius to come home. Even someone like himself, he found, that preferred to keep others at arm's length, missed the daily opportunity for conversation with a variety of people. True, he enjoyed the peaceful life, but at the same time he felt isolated. Writing letters simply wasn't the same as human interaction.   


_Letters_, Remus thought. James had barely written since he and Lily were so busy preparing for their new child, and the last one from Peter had somehow unnerved him. There was nothing on the surface to make him uneasy; rather it was the lack of text that struck him as strange. Peter was usually as thoughtful in his letters as he was in life. He wrote in a small, precise hand, every word carefully chosen. This last letter, though, had sounded like something written out of obligation rather than friendship.   


_Remus-   
_

All is well here. Mother and I are doing fine. I'm still working at the Ministry. They've got me doing some finance work. Knew being good at math was going to help me one day. I still wish I could find a job where I could use all those so-called useful skills we learned in school, but I guess you have to take what you can get. Hope you and Sirius are all right. Have you heard from James lately?   


-Peter   


As he walked among the cherry trees, he memorized the uneven grain of the parchment in his hands. Much as he wanted to tell Sirius, he kept his thoughts of Peter to himself. For all he knew, he was just being overprotective. It made sense that he would want to ensure that those closest to him were all right. That was one of many traits he attributed to his wolf side: a fierce, primal loyalty to those who kept him company and risked their lives to be with him. They still spent most full moons together, though Remus wondered how that would change when James and Lily's child was born. Sirius alone might not be enough to keep him from murder, and he would much rather spend his wolf nights running through forests with the stag, dog, and rat than chained in his basement, creating more scars.   


A small popping sound behind him, almost lost in the slow wind, made him peer over his shoulder.   


Peter stood in the shadow of a tree, its fruit still bitterly sour with immaturity.   


"Peter! How, er, good to see you!" Quickly, he tucked Peter's letter into the pocket of his robes.   


"Hello, Remus."   


Peter's words were calm, but his tonality made the hair on the back of Remus's neck prickle. _Strange_, thought Remus, _the last time I felt like this was...when was it? Something is so familiar here, no, some_one_. Severus. No. Slimy and annoying git, yes, but not frightening. Who is it?_   


"Would you like to come inside?"   


"Thank you."   


Malfoy. That was it. Peter sounded like Lucius Malfoy. Aloof. Detached. Sure of himself. Empty. Everything Remus knew Peter not to be. It added to his sense of worry that had been engendered by Peter's letter. Studying his friend as they walked, he wondered if anything remained of the Peter he knew. Where was the prudent selection of words, the laughter, or the wondering look in his eyes? Slowly but unquestionably, Peter had changed. Maybe it was all a part of his growing into adulthood. Remus knew that for all Peter's intelligence, he had never had a lot of self-confidence. Was that uncertainty growing?   


The two men headed for the house, Peter shielding his eyes from the blistering sun. Suspicions began to swim in Remus's head, but he said nothing as he guided Peter to the small kitchen. He forced himself to make tea and conversation, silently questioning why Peter was here at such an odd time.   


"Sirius isn't here, is he?"   


"No, he won't be back until later."   


He sensed Peter relaxing at this assurance. Peter had never felt entirely comfortable when he was alone with Sirius because they had such different personalities. He knew Sirius cared deeply for Peter, though Sirius sometimes felt they had to stretch to have any lengthy discussion. Peter flipped through the Daily Prophet on the table, not reading. Seeing the newspaper made Remus think of something that had been nagging him.   


"Bizarre things have been happening. I know it's because of the one whose name they won't speak. Lots of people have been disappearing. No one I know personally, but it can't just be coincidence for all these disappearances to be happening so close together. And Sirius told me worse things have been going on than the paper's willing to report. Strange deaths, some people even tortured, and homes are being destroyed. It scares me. I wonder some days whether Sirius is going to make it home."   


Peter nearly spilled tea down his robes as he jerked his head up from the paper. Remus knew. He had to leave before Sirius could find out. Sirius would probably tear him apart with his bare hands.   


"I'm sure he'll be fine."   


"Peter, is anything wrong? You seem...like there's something not right."   


"What makes you say that?"   


The words "because if I wasn't looking at you sitting at my kitchen table, I'd swear I was talking to Lucius Malfoy" rang through Remus's mind, but instead he said lightly: "You're just quieter than usual."   


"Everything's fine."   


"Don't lie to me, Wormtail," Remus added, even lighter.   


Was it Remus's imagination, or did Peter flinch? A shadow had crossed his face when Remus addressed him. Watery blue eyes registered alarm. Remus could spot a liar at a hundred yards, and they both knew it.   


"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."   


"Is it something Sirius should know about?"   


"It's not that important. But Remus, please, promise me you won't tell Sirius I was here. You know how he gets when he thinks something might be wrong with you or me or James. I don't want him overreacting and running off the way he tends to do."   


Remus, usually not the type to resort to violence, had to restrain himself from reaching across the table and punching Peter in the nose in his frustration. As he looked at Peter, however, it seemed to him that someone had already taken care of that. He hadn't noticed the bruise before, but it was definitely there, faded. Why was his friend acting so oddly? There was a puzzle here to solve, but none of the pieces wanted to fit together. There had to be a connection between Peter's demeanor, the bruise, and the reportings in the Daily Prophet, but he couldn't make it.   


With a reluctant sigh, he said, "I promise. Is someone torturing you?"   


Peter hesitated in his response.   


"Peter, please, you can come and stay with us if someone's after you. We'll hide you. You'll be safe. Sirius and I will watch out for you." His words tumbled out, pushed by concern for Peter's safety. He felt like killing the one who would hurt his friend. It wasn't a feeling he relished, but it was there nonetheless. The sudden fire in his blood reminded him of why he valued his friends so much.   


Peter shook his head. "James."   


"Someone's after James? Someone's hurting James?"   


"No, no, I-I'm just worried about him. You too, of course. And Sirius."   


"Do you think one of us should go stay with James and Lily?"   


"No, I think they'll be fine." Yes, that was it. Turn Remus's thoughts away from him. "James can handle himself." He scratched his left forearm absently. "James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


"Yes, that's true." Remus looked at him curiously. "What did you do to your arm?"   


Peter thought fast through the panic. Could Remus see it? No, it was too high up, covered by his robes. The cuts near his wrist. Cat scratches? Overexcited mail owl?   


"Oh, just, er, taking care of the garden for Mother. Those rosebushes can be nasty sometimes."   


"Who's hurting you?"   


"Remus, it's nothing. Just a few scratches. From a rosebush."   


"A rosebush."   


"Yes."   


Remus stood. "Let's go for a walk." It was a command, rather than a suggestion.   


The sun had passed its midpoint and was beginning to move west. As they walked through the grounds, Remus remained silent, but Peter could see him turning over their conversation in his mind.   


"We would die for you, Wormtail."   


"That name. Please stop using that name," begged Peter silently. That was how He referred to him.   


"You do know that?"   


Peter nodded.   


"And you trust us?"   


"Yes, of course."   


"And you know you can depend on us?"   


"Yes."   


"And you would tell us if something was wrong?"   


Finally, a question he could answer truthfully. "Yes."   


They didn't know. Relief cleared his mind. Nothing was wrong. In fact, nothing ever had been so right, though he knew it was stained with evil. When he'd taken the mark, the wand searing his skin, he'd felt a surge of conquest. He finally had what he'd been thirsting for all his life. After the pain had subsided, he'd looked at the other faces in his circle. Fidelity and hunger bound them to their master and each other. He had let them capture him out of fear and longing and stayed when he realized they were more powerful than he ever could have imagined. James would be theirs. He had sworn his loyalty and knew he faced torture if he turned back on his promise.   


Would Remus understand? Peter worked his mouth around the words, which refused to form. That was the price, having to keep a secret from the only people who had taken the time to care about him outside of his family. He wanted to tell Remus but knew he would pay for it with his life. Remus might die, too, if anyone found out. Better to keep things to himself. It was difficult being caught between the sides of dark and light, but he knew he wouldn't have to be that way for much longer. In a bitter sort of way, he enjoyed it. He had the power to move between worlds, a power that no one could ever know he possessed. It was a game to him, to see how far he could step to one side without the other finding out. If he allowed Remus to get hurt in the game, he would lose.   


"Wormtail--" Remus had not imagined Peter's recoiling at the name. "If you're afraid of leaving your mother, she can come here, too. We'll be a little crowded, but it's better than coming home to see your house destroyed. You know Sirius and I would do anything for you."   


Anything? Peter unconsciously raised an eyebrow. Would Sirius be able to keep his temper if he knew James would probably be dead within a year? Would Sirius ever understand his need to belong, when he had never been on the outside of anything? None of them would ever know what it was like to feel incompetent, always straining for the right words. The Slytherins had given him their secret and branded him as their possession. He had been almost completely stripped of free will, but he enjoyed the raw feeling of the knowledge left in its place against his mind. Who had he been to the Three? They had called him their friend but would not trust him with the traits that separated them from the rest of Hogwarts. Who were they to tell him anything? So many years together: James had married, Sirius and Remus were living together-- they didn't seem to care that he was on their outside. No matter, he was on someone else's inside. Someone with magic beyond anything his friends could accomplish.   


"Remus, we'll be fine. I promise."   


"I don't understand why you're hiding from me."   


"I'm not hiding anything! Why are you so convinced I'm going to be the next one to disappear? Is that what you want?" He could feel Remus freeze in shock at his remark. In that moment, he hated himself for lying to Remus, who had always been the sympathetic listener. At the same time, he smiled at a well-placed move in his game of good versus evil. The only thing that had held him back all this time was the love he knew Remus, Sirius, and James had for him. He shared that feeling, but it couldn't eliminate the void in his mind that begged to be filled with the wisdom that comes only from power.   


"Why on Earth would you think I want you dead? How could you say something like that? Peter, you're like a brother to me. You have given so much for me, I feel like I could never repay you. I want to keep you safe; it's the least I can do."   


"I'm perfectly safe."   


"I don't believe you."   


Peter grabbed Remus by the upper arms and turned him so that he was looking up into Remus's face. "Leave me alone, Remus, please. There are some things you'll just never understand. You and Sirius and James..."   


"James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


"...You've all got lives of your own, and I'm not as involved with that anymore. We're not in school. This is the real world. I'm a grown man, and I can handle things myself."   


"But from what Sirius has told me, no one is out of harm's way. This wizard, he's got followers. Dangerous ones. I've heard rumors about some of the people we went to school with. Lucius Malfoy. Severus. If they're on his side, it could be disastrous. They were some of the smartest people in our class, and I wouldn't put it past them to use Dark Arts to get what they want. Peter, you have no idea what's out there. "   


"No, Remus." Again, that cold, distant tone that made Remus cringe. "You are the one who has no idea."   


With that, he Disapparated, leaving a stunned Remus staring at rows of tomato plants. He could still feel the pain of Peter's tight grip on his arms.   


"Peter," he said to the void, "what's going on? Why are you so scared? Why are you wearing your longest robes in the middle of July? Where did that bruise come from?"   


Rage pervaded Remus. He wanted to meet the person responsible for Peter's injuries when he was in full wolf form, with all the strength and unbridled bloodlust he didn't have as a human. Who was it that was making his friend act so mysteriously? What was Peter hiding? He didn't like the feelings of anger his meeting with Peter had stirred inside him. They were memories of the wolf, uncontrolled and deadly. It was as though the wolf knew what Peter wouldn't tell and dared him to see past Peter's words with only the feelings of violence as a clue.   


"Are they hurting you? Are they tormenting you like they did in school?"   


His only answer was the breeze sweeping faster through the gardens.   


"Why are you so insistent that I not talk to Sirius? I won't, but Peter, I don't like it. I don't like the idea of you being threatened, and I know Sirius could help you better than I."   


The scent of apples, and pears from far away, brushed him.   


"Why did you look so troubled when I called you Wormtail? I call you that because I love you, because it reminds me of what you gave so I could have companionship."   


A low rumbling noise in the distance disturbed him. He looked up, surprised to see dark clouds forming to the north. Miles away, a storm was growing.   


"Why have you changed? Why can't you talk to me?"   


Troubled, Remus headed for the house before the rains could arrive.   



	5. Marche au Supplice

**IV: Marche au Supplice**

  


The march to the courtroom went for miles, Sirius's shoes scuffling along the polished floor. The cords binding him cut into his wrists and his shoulders ached from forcing his hands behind his back. His legs grew heavier with every swish of his threadbare robes. The sun had begun its ascent into the sky, and long narrow clouds muffled the scarlet dawn. Storms were coming. That explained the spike of pain just above his right eye, amplifying his every sense. Objects seemed closer, surfaces rougher, sounds louder. Though loathe to admit it, he took pleasure in these sensations. Any feeling at all was better than the emptiness left to him by the dementors.   


James and Lily. Dead. Gone because he had been so gullible. His godson forced to live with Muggles. How could anyone think he would ever betray James, for whom he would have died? "I deserve Azkaban," he cursed himself silently, "for all my stupidity and blindness. Why didn't I see what Peter was? Why didn't I see what he was going to do? How could he turn on James? What had Voldemort offered him that we couldn't?"   


It felt like he had been watching the past three months of his life as a series of photographs. Giving a teary Rubeus Hagrid his motorcycle to take Harry to his Muggle relatives. Peter destroying the street. Clouds of crushed granite mixed with branches and bricks disrupting the peace. Bodies strewn across the torn sidewalks. Acrid smoke burning everyone's lungs. Water gushing from a broken fire hydrant; the river Styx flooding newly formed trenches. The dust and blood on his hair and robes when the Law Enforcement wizards came to take him to Azkaban to await trial. Losing his memories of warmth and love. Remus, his last hope, abandoning him. Waiting day after day in his cell for someone to figure out the truth. Today, he would begin his trial.   


The guard pulled the oak doors open. The atmosphere in the room swelled in a crescendo of vengeance. Sirius focused on the empty wooden chair ahead of him, magical shackles its only adornment. He stood in front of the chair, raised his head with his last ounce of will, and sat as the golden restraints encircled his limbs.   


Remus sat among the courtroom spectators, stone silent, brown eyes crystalline. Remus, who had never come to see him in Azkaban. Torn between the one whose idea had saved him from loneliness and exile and the one who slowly, gently, learned every line of his body. Sirius fought hardest against the dying of his thoughts of Remus. The harder he struggled, though, the faster they seemed to fade.   


Looking around the room, something seemed strange to him. A piece was missing out of this scene. The jury box. His breath caught in his throat. It was empty.   


Five judges filed into the room, and the people rose to their feet. Fear spread through Sirius as he watched the flow of their heavy robes. As they sat, so did the gallery, and four of the judges waited for their leader to begin. From the center of their bench, Bartemius Crouch's baritone reverberated through the courtroom.   


"Sirius Black, you have been brought before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgment and sentence on you for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen Muggles."   


"What about my trial?" Sirius shouted, the words escaping him before he could think about them. How could Crouch be so calm, sitting there as though fashioned from marble? Did the truth mean anything to anyone?   


Scanning the faces in the room, he saw not one glimmer of outrage, rather, they all looked as though they supported Crouch's declaration. It wasn't difficult to understand. These were times of terror and distrust and, though the truth was always stranger than fiction, he knew it would take a miracle for anyone to believe he was innocent. He looked to Remus, who stared straight ahead. Resolve and hope began to leave his body, replaced by despair and an awareness of the weight of his body in the chair.   


"In light of the overwhelming evidence against you, this court finds you guilty of this crime and shall pass sentence."   


"James," he thought, "please forgive me."   


"For this crime, you will serve a life term in Azkaban."   


At the threshold of hearing, his voice came, "No..."   


Voices rose around the room, a fanfare of satisfaction.   


"I knew he was guilty all along..."   


"I hope they do to the rest of the Death Eaters what they're going to do to this one..."   


"Turning over his best friend to You-Know-Who, I hope he dies slowly..."   


He closed his eyes, which burned as he hung his head, tangled black hair falling in curtains around his unshaven face. A rat ran across his shoe, pausing only for a moment to curl its whiplike tail around his ankle.   



	6. Hexensabbat

**V: Hexensabbat**

  


Voldemort stood before them. He towered over Peter, whose ears were full of the low hum of the ones who had enticed him. Shadows flickered on the walls; a lavender fire provided the room's only light. Death had touched them, breaking their chain. Already there were gaps in the loyal circle, spaces once filled by those who shared his promise now invisible gravestones shimmering in the fire's glow. His master's voice was high and discordant, a bending of sound into quartertones.   


"Wormtail, your time has come."   


He could only raise his eyes and nod. Finally, he had won. He had convinced Sirius to let him be the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Arguing with Sirius had nearly torn him in two, but he had only to remember the scars on his thin body to keep pursuing the idea. He had not succeeded where he thought he would, and this was his last chance to please his master or…he didn't even want to think about the consequences. It had taken Sirius a long time to consent, and he had almost resigned himself to insanity at the hands of the other Death Eaters.   


Voldemort's words were gentle, with the harshest of implications.   


"James Potter."   


Surrounded by figures in long hooded cloaks, he sank to his knees and his mind began to spin.   


"James," he thought, "James, I love you, please forgive me. I could never do this willingly; do you know that? But, oh, they offered me what you wouldn't share. They could make me more than I was. And you deserted me, left me behind when the time came for us to go forward in life. Didn't you know that was when I needed you the most? For so long I watched you, Sirius, and Remus succeed where I couldn't. I wanted just one day to feel the way you did and be as confident and strong as you were. When they came to me, it was like a door opened at which I had shouted 'Alohomora' for years. And the pain. You have never experienced pain to the point where you forget who you are and will give everything you've ever known to make it stop. This choice, James… it was not mine. Please, please forgive me. You have to forgive, because you could never understand."   


In a single breath, he changed the world. The Potters' secret burst from his mouth, and it was rewarded with a lipless smile.   


"What have I done?" he asked himself as he began to shake.   


Peter dropped his head into his hands as haunted, misshapen images filled his mind. He saw James as a silver stag, advancing on a moving blackness. Sirius appeared, looking as though he hadn't eaten in months. He heard James shouting Lily's name. A picture of Harry with blood on his forehead flashed before him. To drive out the dreams, he pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, pulling his hair.   


"James," he thought, "could you ever forgive me? All I wanted was a success of my own, and I'm paying for it with you. I thought…I thought they would give me what I always wanted. Didn't you notice? How many years have we known each other? Didn't you see? It was about you, and how much I have always loved you. Since I first let them take me, I have known this time would come, because you were so determined and secure in your abilities, because you could resist them when I couldn't. You saw them for what they were and turned them down because you never needed what they had to offer. It wouldn't have to be this way if you had gone with them. My master wanted your life, not your death. I knew I would have to give you to them in return for my place. I never thought, though, that I would feel like this. Heartbroken. Lost. I can't straddle this ravine forever, the one between you and them. It's not a life I can face."   


The voices of the others slowly descended in pitch, shrouding him in ruthless intentions.   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


Sirius, who was probably at his house right now, wondering where he was. He would make Sirius pay for this, if James could not forgive him.   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


He had been wrong in blaming James. It was Sirius, brash and bold, who could never understand his need. Sirius, joined to James and Remus at the soul, whose discomfort he could feel when they were alone together. He had been the one to ultimately keep their trio from becoming a full quartet, but at the same time his caring and trust would be his downfall. Sirius had given him the secret and their friend's life.   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


The circle began their chant, strange words of malevolence and prayer.   


_"Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla, teste David cum Sybilla..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


_"Quantus tremor est futurus, quando judex est venturus..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


_"Tuba mirum spargens sonum per sepulchra regionum..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


A street. A street near Godric's Hollow. A street full of witches and wizards who knew and loved James. Witnesses. There had to be witnesses who would see that Sirius, not he, was the real traitor.   


_"Coget omnes ante thronum..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


_"Mors stupebit et natura cum resurget creatura, judicanti responsura."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


It wouldn't be so hard to lure Sirius to a public place. His temper would be his end. It would take almost nothing to get Sirius screaming. If they thought Sirius was angry, surely it would not take much except a few well-chosen words to make them believe he was capable of murder.   


_"Liber scriptus proferetur in quo totum continetur..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


_"Unde mundus judicetur..."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


_"Judex ergo cum sedebit quidquid latet apparebit nil inultum remanebit."_   


He heard funeral bells tolling in the distance. Death. Whose?   


"James," he thought, "I know you'll never forgive me. I almost told Remus, did you know that? Did he tell you about my visit? He had to have suspected something. Damn his loyalty. He might have stopped all of this, but he's more intent on keeping his promises. Maybe one day he'll put all this together, and know the story. After tomorrow, I'll never see either of them again." Remus was just as guilty as Sirius. He had to have known. How could he not? He was supposed to have broken his promise of silence, unwittingly saving them all, but had seen only what he wanted to see.   


The atmosphere in the room was alive with malicious joy. Snape, Goyle, Avery, Crabbe, Karkaroff-- he could feel their hearts swell at the thought of James's demise. Their promise to each other and their master grew stronger with the loss of every innocent life. They were convinced they would win the war, but at the same time Peter knew his own battle had barely begun. He would die unless he could figure out a way to escape.   


A shock, like being touched momentarily with the Cruciatus Curse, sent waves through Peter as he lifted his head and dropped his arms.   


James stood before him, wearing a hooded cloak to match those worn by the Death Eaters. He felt faint at the vision of his beloved as a Dark wizard, joining hands with the others. They had wanted James. Someone so bright and assured would have been a tremendous addition to their number.   


James's image taunted him. Though the shadow had no voice, it conveyed a thousand messages with its eyes.   


_Do you remember those long evenings, Wormtail, when it seemed like the sun would never rise and we laughed at the stars? Do you remember how cold my hands were? The air was sharp and it hurt to breathe, but there was nothing that made us feel so alive. You shared everything with me, I thought. You told me so much that I knew you had hidden for so long, but what you didn't say was more important than what you did. I know how you feel. I have known for years. I saw it in your face and your motions, but you and I both know that it could never have been. _  


In endless frozen nights they had shared each other's heat, pain, hope, and wonder. Peter pushed James to new levels of thinking, and knew that James loved the challenge. Never had he shown Peter anything but kindness, but it wasn't enough. It had not stopped Peter from giving up everything he was for the promise of something he might become. For all their time spent together, he had never seen Peter's deepest desire: to possess what the other three had in spirit and aptitude. Peter knew, but refused to admit to himself or anyone else, that it was something that could never be taught or given. They were born to stand apart, to succeed, and he was born to follow.   


He flared with jealousy at James's courage, and the nerve that allowed him to turn his back on one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived. James had to have known the price of his refusal, yet he stayed true to his beliefs. Voldemort's fury had reached a peak he had not thought possible when James turned down the offer to join the circle, much more so than when anyone else had done the same thing. It was as though James had a power or a legacy no one else possessed. Something Voldemort could only get from him. Something Voldemort feared and wanted to erase. Peter almost had to laugh at his master. Only someone who didn't know James would be angry with what he had done. Anyone else would have seen James's reaction from the beginning. The way to James was not through direct confrontation, but through manipulation, confusion, and perverse reasoning. James had to be outsmarted, his thoughts and logic twisted until he no longer knew one idea from the next. It was then he was at his most vulnerable.   


"Tonight, we will bring down the one who would deny us."   


Wind gathered in the clear night...   


"James Potter will die."   


...ripping leaves from trees...   


"His inheritance will no longer threaten us."   


...screaming through bare branches...   


"None of his bravery will protect him."   


...tearing through gates and weakened windows.   


Low voices murmured acceptance, approval. More than half of them barely knew James, but they were all aware to some degree of how his actions had been a blow to their quest for power. Their anger and frustration had accumulated alongside their master's. He had taken his rage out on his circle, and through him they had all come to despise James. Entwined with pride, their hatred made them stronger. It fueled their desire to make James one of them, to claim ownership of such a gifted wizard. When they killed or tortured, James was in their thoughts, adding vengeance to their curses.   


_"Oro supplex et acclinis, cor contritum quasi cinis, gere curam mei finis."_   


He heard one voice, rich and iniquitous, laughing. Malfoy. It had to be. The unspoken second in command had wanted to conquer James for years, and for years had watched him stand just out of reach.   


Thoughts of Remus floated to the top of his mind. He would miss Remus, always so understanding, but at the same time he knew it would be harder to face Remus than Sirius. Let Sirius kill him. Let Sirius's fury and strength get the better of him. He was prepared for that. He welcomed the idea that he would not have to live as a jumbled wreck of feelings. Remus's punishment of abandonment and guilt would be a hundred times worse. It would force him to live the rest of his life in the pain of the remembrance of James's touch.   


He had not meant for it to come to this, to be counting down the minutes to James's untimely death. Blood flowed into his mouth, bitter and metallic, as he bit down on his lip to keep from screaming James's name and begging for absolution. Curling into his position, his heart pounded in his ears and every slight noise in the room became deafening. James's specter melted in his mind's eye, and he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from reaching toward his last vision of his friend.   


The Death Eaters' chanting resumed, more strident than before.   


_"Ingemisco tanquam reus , culpa rubet vultus meus, supplicanti parce, Deus."_   


As he looked up at his master, he wondered if all his torture had been for nothing. Would he be the next one killed? Now that the Dark Lord had James, he wasn't sure if he was still guaranteed a spot among the Death Eaters. When he had first joined, he thought they saw him in a way no one else did, as someone capable and clever. Once James was dead, would his existence mean anything? In giving his master James, the center of their group, he knew he had also renounced his life with Sirius and Remus. His master would know his doubt, and he would not be able to reason his way out of punishment for his thoughts. No one would be his advocate. He had tricked those who loved him for a wish that he now realized could never be fulfilled. The only true way out, he knew, was to cause his own death, but he was certain he lacked that bravery.   


_"Lacrimosa dies illa qua resurget ex favilla."_   


He held back his tears of knowledge and remorse. Above all else, he could not allow himself to leave those that knew him with a memory of him as a liar, a sycophant, a traitor. They had to believe he was dead, for he knew then that they would never speak of him except fondly.   


Voldemort's laughter was more terrible than he had ever heard. The shrieks of the damned filled it, and whispers of the lost. To him, James Potter would be an outstanding conquest. The Dark Lord would have the last word over anyone who rejected him. As resolute as James was, even he couldn't stop death. His end would be the Trinity's as well. Humiliated, guilt-ridden, torn by betrayal, Sirius and Remus would finally know what it was like to live as Peter did, blinded by darkness.   


Feeling a sudden cold draft, he looked over his shoulder to see his master leaving the room, robes flowing in his wake. The door slammed shut, like the crash of many cymbals, as Voldemort left for Godric's Hollow already celebrating his certain victory.   


~~~~~~~~~

Translation of the _Dies Irae_  


_ Dies irae, dies illa   
solvet saeclum in favilla,  
teste David cum Sybilla. _  


The day of wrath, that day   
which will reduce the world to ashes  
as foretold by David and the Sybil   


  
_ Quantus tremor est futurus   
quando judex est venturus   
cuncta stricte discussurus _  


What terror there will be   
when the Lord will come   
to rigorously judge all   


_ Tuba mirum spargens sonum   
per sepulchra regionum   
coget omnes ante thronum_  


The trumpet scattering a wondrous sound   
among the graves of all the lands   
will assemble all before the Throne   


_ Mors stupebit et natura   
cum resurget creatura   
judicanti responsura   
_

Death and Nature will be astounded   
when they see a creature rise again   
to answer to the Judge   


_ Liber scriptus proferetur   
in quo totum continetur   
unde mundus judicetur   
_

The book will be brought forth  
in which all deeds are noted   
for which humanity will answer   


_Judex ergo cum sedebit  
quidquid latet apparebit  
nil inultum remanebit  
_

When the judge will be seated  
all that is hidden will appear  
and nothing will go unpunished  


_ Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?  
Quem patronum rogaturus  
cum vix justus sit securus_  


Alas, what will I then say?  
To what advocate shall I appeal  
when even the just tremble?  


_ Rex tremendae majestatis  
qui salvandos salvas gratis  
salva me, fons pietatis_  


O king of redoutable majesty  
who freely saves the elect  
save me, o fount of piety  


_ Quaerens me sedisti lassus  
redemisti crucem passus  
tantus labor non sit cassus_  


You wearied yourself in finding me  
You have redeemed me through the cross  
Let not such great efforts be in vain  


_ Juste judex ultionis  
donum fac remissionis  
ante diem rationis_  


O judge of vengeance justly  
make a gift of your forgiveness  
before the day of reckoning  


_ Ingemisco tanquam reus  
culpa rubet vultus meus  
supplicanti parce, Deus  
_

I lament like a guilty one  
My faults cause me to blush  
I beg you, spare me  


_ Qui Mariam absolvisti  
et latronem exaudisti  
mihi quoque spem dedisti  
_

You who have absolved Mary  
and have heard the thief's prayer  
have also given me hope  


_ Preces meae non sunt dignae  
sed tu, bonus, fac benigne  
ne perenni cremer igne  
_

My prayers are not worthy  
but you, o Good One, please grant freely  
that I do not burn in the eternal fire  


_ Inter oves locum praeta  
et ab hoedis me sequestra  
statuens in parte dextra  
_

Give me a place among the sheep  
separate me from the goats  
by placing me at your right  


_Confutatis maledictis  
flammis acribus addictis  
voca me cum benedictis  
_

Having destroyed the accursed  
condemned them to the fierce flames  
Count me among the blessed  


_ Oro supplex et acclinis  
cor contritum quasi cinis  
gere curam mei finis  
_

I prostrate myself, supplicating  
my heart in ashes, repentant  
take good care of my last moment  


_ Lacrimosa dies illa  
qua resurget ex favilla  
_

That tearful day  
when shall rise again from the ashes   


_ judicandus homo reus  
Huic ergo parce, Deus   
_

sinful man to be judged  
Therefore pardon him, o God  


_ Pie Jesu Domine  
dona eis requiem  
_

Holy Lord Jesus  
give them rest  


  


_ Amen _


End file.
